Bridget Jones: A Brand New Start
By S. Faith, © 2014-2015
Words: 50,000 in 6 chapters
Rating: T / PG-13
Summary, Disclaimer, Notes, Art credit: See Chapter 1.
Chapter 2
Tues, 13 Jan
9st 1½ (blame the Chinese noodles), cigarettes 1 (must ration in manner of World War II), alcohol units 3 (supressed vice made up for in other ways), misinterpreted grand gestures 1 (par for course), excursions out of house 2 (hurrah).
8.03 am. Was awakened three hours ago by terrifying sound of telephone ringing. Mark answered as believed it to be work-related, but eyes flashed to me as he spoke. "No, Mrs Jones, we are still abed. We are eight hours behind you. It is five in the morning."
Was own mother. Could hear her talking in Mark's ear. Probably profusely apologising. Was sure she would not have apologised like that to me.
Mark gave over the phone to me. Instantly proved correct:
"Darling, I am disappointed!" she said haughtily. "No call to let me know you were all right! I had to get this telephone number from Elaine Darcy. So humiliating."
"Sorry, Mum," I said. Did feel bad, but honestly. "But if you got the number from Elaine then surely you knew we were here and were all right."
"It's common courtesy, darling!"
"I said I was sorry," I said, then yawned. "Mum, I need to get back to sleep. It's not even light out yet."
"But I wanted to tell you—"
Mark plucked the receiver from my hand and spoke to Mum. "Mrs Jones," he said in that authoritative tone that always makes my knees go weak, "I'll make sure she rings you when she gets up. Yes, yes. All right. Goodbye." And then he put the phone down, settling back down onto the pillow again and snuggling me close. Warm breath against neck, spooned up against him…
Did not go directly back to sleep, but will never say so to Mum.
Now am up after coffee and breakfast with Mark, determined not to fuck things up like yesterday.
8.05 am. It has been nice, though, living with Mark Darcy. Sleeping together every night without worrying about which place to go and morning logistics. We rarely get to wake up and have breakfast together when he stays with me or I stay in Holland Park house, as too rushed to get back to respective own place to change for work, so is just enough time for a coffee and croissant at Coins. Is only the start of fourth day (if counting flight), but constant togetherness seems to have strengthened bond and fostered intimacy.
Oh bugger. Should ring Mum as promised.
8.10 am. Except am not sure how to call from US.
8.12 am. Right. Maybe should call Mark to ask. Surely he knows. But do not want to bother him at work.
8.15 am. As if thought vibes activated telephonic lines, phone began to ring. Was not sure if should answer but decided since am living here too, it might be for me. Even if have not given number to anyone. So answered it. Was Mark, reminding me to call my mum.
"I was just about to," I said, "but I'm not sure I know how to."
"Did you look on the notepad there by the phone?" Mark at his quietly amused best.
Looked as suggested, to see list printed in Mark's tidy hand, instructions for dialling UK. At bottom was the house's number (including what bits to give to friends at home for dialling from UK) and his number at work (underscoring only the bits to dial from the house if I need to call him). V. appreciative though a bit dismayed at list looking like a list meant for seven-year-old. "Oh," I said. "You know me too well. Thank you."
"Of course, darling," he said, failing to catch the sarcasm in my tone. "You'll note that at the top of the phone base is the caller ID box."
Gasped. The fabled caller ID, with bright display showing same phone number on paper, along with "ORTIZ GONZALES &" for caller name. Think how wonderful and terrifying it would have been to have had this during Daniel telephone frenzy. "Yes," I said in awed whisper.
He chuckled. "Yes, you can scroll and see a history of incoming calls," he said; have waxed rhapsodic about caller ID to Mark before, not that need it now. He then added, "Not that there's anything of interest there—we've only been here since Saturday."
"Of course not." Though why even state the obvious? Hm. Curious.
"Well, best call your mum before she melts down," said Mark with light tone. "I'll see you later, darling. Love you."
"Love you too," I said, then put phone down. Eyes drawn to up/down arrows next to caller ID window. Will just flip back a little. Must explore the miracle of caller ID.
8.20 am. Really is quite amazing. Though is odd entry from Monday. Do not know who or what "LILY JANE ANDERS" is.
8.21 am. Must not obsess.
8.22 am. Am sure is wrong number. Or looking for previous resident. No big deal.
8.25 am. Must not call number back. Must call Mum. Right.
9.15 am. Have just extracted self from call with Mum. Really wasn't so bad, actually, but carbon copy of so many prior conversations. "Hello, darling, guess what?", followed by announcement of latest daughter-of-friend to be pregnant, recent shenanigans with pavement grades in Grafton Underwood, plans for holiday with Una and Mavis, etc. Still, was reassuring to have familiar piece of home here.
Ooh, should call girls. Though which first?
Oh, telephone!
9.19 am. Odd. Was that same mystery number from Monday. Decided to pick it up.
"Hello. Is Mr Darcy there?" Was female voice. Young-sounding.
"No, he's not."
"Oh." Paper shuffling. "I'm so sorry to bother you. I'll try the work number. Thanks."
With that, she put down phone. What is going on?
9.21 am. Must not assume worst. Must trust there is simple explanation, and is not, for example, escort service or similar. Mark has more than proven he is trustworthy.
10.05 am. Was just about to ring Shazzer in full paranoid meltdown (so ashamed of self, especially in retrospect) when doorbell rang.
Looked through peep-hole to see nothing but wall of green and red. Opened door to find self facing enormous bouquet of long-stemmed roses of the deepest ruby red, already within gorgeous vase object. Felt eyes tear up.
"Miss Jones?" came a voice from deep within jungle of flowers, then saw a face peek around the bouquet. Was young whippersnapper who looked like the bouquet might be too much for him.
"Yes, please bring it in," I said.
He set bouquet down on occasional table in foyer. Only then did uniform top become visible: LILY JANE'S FLOWERS. Then in tiny letters under: LILY JANE ANDERSON, OWNER. And phone number from caller ID. Felt foolish. All clicked together.
"There you are, ma'am," he said. Forgave him "ma'am" debacle as he was obviously 12. And had just brought magnificent roses that were already making the house smell amazing.
"Thank you," I said moonily.
He smiled in rather stiff manner, then left. (Oh. Wonder if was supposed to tip him?)
Turned to bouquet again to admire. Spotted card on weird card-fork. Here is what card says:
Life without you would be like California without sun. So glad you could come here with me. There's no one else with whom I'd rather be halfway across the world, paradise or no.M xx
And Mark thinks he's not poetic. Bah.
Picked up phone, dialled the work number, not caring if disturbing important meeting. Rang for long time, then was, bizarrely, patched through to Juliza.
"Sorry, he's on a call," she said as I explained was trying to reach Mark.
"Oh," I said.
"Something I can help with?"
"No, I—" I began, then stopped. There was something she could do. "Actually, I would like to do something really nice for Mark, but haven't the faintest idea where to begin."
"Oh!" she said, and it was the sort of enthusiasm that is definitely not faked. "Why don't we do lunch, then? We can talk about what you could do for him."
Had only been hoping for ideas, but remembered she had previously offered. "Yes," I said. "That'd be lovely."
So now must get fully made up, as she will be here by noon. Hurrah!
10.09 am. Will call the girls later. Or send emails when I check work when I get back.
10.10 am. Suppose I should give Grant D Pike the number here. Surely he has the sense not to ring at 5.00 am like my mother.
10.52 am. Was just getting ready when telephone rang. Was Mark. Nearly sobbed all of eye makeup off again thanking him for the beautiful roses.
"Just a small token," he said tenderly. "I'm glad you like them."
"I love them," I said. "I love you."
"It was my pleasure," he said, sounding a little embarrassed. "So how's the day going? Getting some work done?"
"Actually…" Went on to explain about calling mum (which he knows is never short), the flower delivery, my phone call to the office, resulting in the upcoming lunch outing with Juliza. (Decided to omit florist caller ID panic as was not productive.)
"Ah, so that's where she's going," he said, a penny obviously dropping. "Well. Have fun, and I'll see you later."
We said our love-yous and goodbyes, and each put down the phone. Am really at a loss what to get the man who apparently has everything. Aside from work and the football, should know what else Mark has interest in, but do not. Funnily, am reminded of Jamie's Becca, handing over variety of career-related Christmas gifts to me—suppose am not exactly broadcasting hobbies and interests. Am not a painter, knitter, or similar. Hope Mark does not secretly hate my gifts as much as I hate Becca's. Except, of course, for the Making of Pride and Prejudice books, which I love.
Best keep getting ready. Do not want to not be ready when Juliza turns up.
4.45 pm. Bloody brilliant afternoon. Juliza was ten minutes late (girl after own heart) in bright yellow convertible with top down, then whisked self away to trendy-looking Japanese bistro close to the beach. Sushi portions were more in line with reality, accompanied with delicious sake.
V. g. long discussion about Mark. Conclusion is that he does not need things but rather experiences. Have only just got here so it seems silly to arrange a mini-break, but things already getting v. critical with work, so a planned decompression is ideal.
Have narrowed it down to either a stay at seaside resort (suggested: Santa Barbara or Malibu) or trip to wine country (Napa). Coast is closer, but Napa, despite requiring short plane ride, would mean could also visit San Francisco, and therefore Tom. But can only be for a weekend, and would want v. much to see sights in San Francisco, too.
Maybe should call the girls and Tom to see what they think. Though obviously Tom will choose himself. (Have been in such pampered heaven here that have called none of my friends. Am v. terrible person.)
4.48 pm. Must talk to someone about this. Probably too late to call the girls, though.
Will have cigarette and think.
5.15 pm. Have just put down phone chatting with Tom, who was shocked that self was in same state as he.
"Of course you must come to San Francisco!" he proclaimed. "Will take you to the pier, the trolleys, all the nightclubs."
"Um," I said. "I'm here with Mark, remember?"
"He can come too if he likes! He'll turn heads down in the Castro."
Could not help but laugh. Have missed Tom so.
"It's supposed to be for rest and relaxation," I said. "You know he's not really a nightclub sort of person."
The more I thought about it, though, the more I loved the idea of going and seeing Tom, soothing the faint pangs of homesickness was beginning to feel. So Tom is going to ask around to see what he can find. Custom agent boyfriend Carl might know of something nice.
5.37 pm. Tom is miracle worker or similar. Has found absolutely perfect retreat. Is in the misty redwood forests south of San Francisco, a lovely, private tree-house cabin with hot tub and all amenities. (Includes electricity and running water, obviously.) Not exactly wine country, but is okay.
Oh. Will ring tomorrow to see about availability, as Mark will be home and have not decided on supper.
6.10 pm. Mark home. Decreed delivery as is too wiped to help with the cooking. Poor Mark. Wonder if he minds pizza.
10.30 pm. Post-pizza rejuvenation. We have just returned from drive to beach in moonlight. Brisk evening, starry sky, lovely beach. Though had repeated feelings of imminent doom and accompanying adrenalin flush due to driving on opposite side than am used to (seems worse at night when it's dark and headlights flash in face). But was wonderful nonetheless.
Determined to pull relaxing mini-break together as soon as possible. And find more Silk Cut, obviously.
Weds, 14 Jan
9st 2 (must make healthy salad or similar), cigarettes 3 (have blown ration but necessary), alcohol units 2 (also necessary), mini-breaks planned 1, mini-breaks poss. doomed to fail 1.
8.15 am. Have just seen Mark off, so can now plan relaxation mini-break. Oh. Maybe should give Shaz and Jude calls. V. bad friend.
Roses still gorgeous and redolent.
9.30 am. Have just talked to both girls in turn. Both were still at work so could not talk long. Jude is practically just back from honeymoon herself (two lavish weeks in Venice) and Richard is already showing signs that tiger stripes have not changed much.
"He resents being given pocket money like a child," she said in all-too-familiar sheep's voice, clearly from the privacy of the ladies' toilet. "I resent that he blows it so quickly with nothing to show for it."
Made appropriately sympathetic noises and reassurances, but had to almost literally bite down on tongue to keep self from saying, "I told you so."
Chat with Shaz was much cheerier. She and Simon are still in throes of shag drunkenness / new love. Can only imagine Mark and I have caused similar diabetes-inducing sweetness to those in close proximity. Though is v. weird to have conversation with Shaz that does not involve feminist rant. Feel as if am speaking to Stepford Wife or similar.
9.35 am. Have checked work assignments and thank God and all his saints I did, as must do work tonight.
9.37 am. Oh bugger. Was from yesterday and was due today.
9.38 am. No, no. Have misread. Is for tomorrow. Need cigarette to calm self.
9.39 am. Shit. Only three left of what have brought. Must find cigarettes.
10.10 am. Have just rung up Juliza to ask about when would be best weekend for planned minibreak.
"This weekend would be ideal," she said, "as it's a long weekend. You could even leave sometime tomorrow. I'm sure we can handle everything."
Apparently Monday is Martin Luther King Jr. Day and so no state business will happen. Is equivalent to bank holiday weekend. Do not know, however, if can pull together minibreak in so short a time. Panic and anxiety over planning relaxation minibreak would negate effect of relaxation minibreak.
Took deep breath. "So who could I call about arranging transport up to San Francisco?"
10.25 am. Tra la, have booked cabin, amazingly enough despite short notice. Cannot believe cabin was available! All set for Friday through Monday morning. Can fly back Monday afternoon or night. In speaking to proprietor, she advised is better to fly to San Jose. Good to know.
10.57 am. Have booked flight. Happily the flights were v. cheap as Los Angeles to San Jose is considered commuter flight (mind-boggling thought when own work commute is trying enough). Extra money from 'paid leave' plus pay for current work means was able to treat Mark. Feel v. pleased with self, in manner of Mother Theresa.
11.35 am. Oh dear. Have just rung up Tom to tell him all is arranged. Conversation went something like this:
Tom: So when's the trip?
Me: Friday!
Tom: [pause] This Friday?
Me: Yes.
Tom: Friday, the 16th of January.
Me: Yes.
Tom: [long silence] Um, hon, it's January. Winter. It'll be coming down buckets there.
Wanted to throttle Tom. When I asked him why did he suggest it, he said he didn't realise it was for imminent minibreak. Cannot stay angry at Tom. However, do feel as if have already fucked it up in manner of booking holiday in Thailand during monsoon season. Gah. And now have smoked penultimate cigarette without even thinking. Did not even get the pleasure of savouring it.
11.47 am. Had to ring Tom back again. Devastated to learn they do not sell Silk Cut in America, though Carl might be able to get some at duty-free in the airport.
"What do you recommend in the meanwhile?" I asked.
"I've taken to smoking Marlboro," he said languidly.
May have to launch expedition.
12.05 pm. Have rung up Mark to ask where are car keys.
"Why?" he asked suspiciously. So told him. He did not answer right away. He obviously does not approve of smoking, but the thought of self operating strange car all on own was giving him greater pause.
"Tell me what it is you want," he said at last. "Ron can take me to a shop on our way back."
Can make it until he gets home, surely. Ooh! Will have dip in pool.
1.10 pm. Pool was lovely. Did not even lock self out of house. Progress.
Should get down to work, then can plan healthy, lovely meal.
4.45 pm. Right. Most of work done and now have put chicken breasts in oven with salt and pepper. Have guessed at setting for baking the chicken as are not gas marks but rather temperatures, and in Fahrenheit, no less. Also have washed lettuce, tomatoes, cucumber and even apple to make big salad. Now to find something to put on salad.
5.05 pm. Oh God, something smells like is on fire.
5.15 pm. Temperature apparently much too hot as smallest bits of chicken had begun to burn. Searched online and found that setting it to Broil, which sounded like good idea at the time, turned out not to be.
Fortunately is salvageable. Have turned down the dial to recommended setting and all seems well now. Hope that chicken will finish cooking by the time Mark is back.
5:35 pm. Found olive oil and vinegar. Vinaigrette! Hurrah!
5.50 pm. Chicken is done. Have just pulled from oven and have also just heard vehicle in drive. Hope Mark will like. So excited to see reaction.
7.30 pm. Mark came into house. Heard him approach the kitchen making loud (almost exaggerated) sniff noises, then stopped in doorway.
"What's that?" he asked tentatively.
"Dinner," I said.
He brought his brows together, looked over to where roasting pan with the chicken breasts was resting on the range. "You cooked?"
Bristled. "Yes." Honestly, did not need to sound so surprised.
He chuckled, walked over to sweep me into his embrace. "It smells fantastic. Thank you," he murmured as he kissed the hair at my temple.
Found some plates then served up one breast chicken each and a side of salad with oil and vinegar drizzled over top. White wine at dinner table with candles all lit. Was v. g.
Chicken was a little dry, though still perfectly edible, especially when dragged through the oil and vinegar. Mark shot smiles to me as he ate. Told him about my day, gabbling about calling Shaz and Jude, and a bit on what we talked about.
"I told Jude marriage would be hell," I said off-handedly (because Richard is Satan incarnate), just as Mark began to sputter on his dinner.
Despite this, Mark finished everything on the plate. After he did, he sipped his wine and touched his table napkin to his lips. "That was marvellous," he said, the coughing fit forgotten.
Made non-committal sound.
"I know you're thinking it was too dry," he said wryly. "Don't worry about it. If it were bad I hardly would have finished it, would I? In fact, if there were more I might have another serving."
Offered smile. Suppose he was right, after all. Not exactly gagging sounds.
He leaned towards me and kissed me. "Well done, darling." Then he stood, swept away the plates and quickly loaded the dishwasher to run. Blimey. Was really determined to keep his word.
"Oh, before I forget," he said, went out of the room, then came back with something in his hand. "For you."
It was a packet of cigarettes, per Tom's specification.
"Thank you," I said with gratitude, taking it from him. Wanted to burst to tell him about minibreak right there and then, but felt the moment was not quite right.
8.59 pm. Phone just rang, which Mark swept up.
"Darcy," he said. Frisson of excitement at authoritative manner, even in picking up phone. His gaze flicked to me. "Yes, she's right here." But he didn't hand it over to me, seemed to still be listening. "Oh. Ah. Well." He looked really confused. "Here you are."
"Oh Bridge," Tom said as soon as I'd said hello. "I put my foot in it, didn't I?"
"What?"
"Joked about you naturally not being packed yet."
Oh God. And I hadn't said anything yet.
"Anyway, just calling to say Carl says no Silk Cut. You'll have to make do with the local stuff, darling."
Said our goodbyes then turned to a still-stunned-looking Mark.
"Surprise," I said weakly.
"You're leaving?" he said, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. "I thought you were happy here. Thought you liked the law partners."
Suddenly realised exactly what it was Mark thought, and ran over to him. "Oh, no, no!" I gabbled. "I'm not leaving! I arranged a surprise for us for the weekend."
He blinked rapidly.
"Yes," I went on. "Had Juliza's help. We're going up north. We'll see Tom and then go to the woods."
It was as if I had begun speaking Swahili to him. "Pardon?"
Then explained how had taken it upon myself to arrange nice relaxing long weekend in Santa Cruz, that we were leaving tomorrow, going to San Francisco to see Tom, then down to the cabin in the woods through Sunday night. He still only stood there and stared at me for what felt like forever, until he suddenly threw his arms around me and held me close.
Then he kissed me and… mmm.
9.03 pm. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Forgot still have work to do. Will be difficult to do work in post-shag haze. Remaining Silk Cut already smoked post-shag so must break into Marlboro.
9.30 pm. Went onto terrace so as to not smoke in Mark's face while working. Lit cig, inhaled, and immediately launched into violent coughing fit.
Learnt the hard way that Marlboro cigs are v. strong compared to Silk Cut.
Mark came instantly to terrace, alarm evident on face. I shook my head, waved my hand, universal body language for no-no-really-am-all-right.
Bloody Tom.
9.32 pm. Feel much stronger than Silk Cut. Can feel rush of nicotine coursing through system. Now have the will to finish assignment. And tell boss will be unavailable for the weekend.
10.20 pm. Bloody hell. Nicotine has already started to leave system and now feel like an addict in detox. Craving for cig is insane. At least am done with work, but will never get to sleep.
Feel like pitching entire box in trash. Obviously are meant for men, hence no comment when Mark purchased them. But what to do now? Tomorrow?
11.35 pm. Mark asked what was wrong, so told him.
"Could ask for something milder for you tomorrow," he offered. Nodded in agreement. Must be love. Know he hates me smoking. "Will another now make you feel better?" he asked.
"For a few minutes, at most," I said.
Mark then offered another suggestion: night-time hot tub under the stars.
"Oh yes please," I chirped. "Where's my bikini?"
He shook his head with a playful smirk.
We then undressed and slipped into dressing gowns and then out into the night and the hot tub (ensuring door did not lock behind us). It was dark save for the lights glowing from the house, so was v. sure we would not be seen. Like naughty school kids we doffed the dressing gowns then got into the water. Was v. g. distraction from withdrawal from cigs from hell.
Am obviously v. pernicious influence on Mark Darcy. How else to explain his suggesting a skinny dip under the moonlight in Los Angeles?
Thurs, 15 Jan
9st 1 (one pound burnt off by nicotine, surely), cigarettes 5 (2 of them Marlboro smoked v. slowly so as not to trigger withdrawal), alcohol units 3, airports 2, transportation fuck-ups 2 (could be worse).
8.30 am. Cannot believe Mark is actually working today, but promises he will be home early, certainly in time for 5.30 flight. Won't be able to do a stroke of work, so hope nothing is needed for tomorrow.
Am charged to begin the packing. Feels a bit strange to pack subset of already fairly spare wardrobe. Has been strange, too, being in this sunny, warm bubble, and keep forgetting it is January. Will probably need to bring jumpers, etc.
8.39 am. Have just had realisation that have not even been in Los Angeles a week. Surely is not normal to plan immediate minibreak away from sunny paradise, even for someone who loves minibreaks as much as self does. Still, is normal to want to explore a new country, surely? Pictures surely do not do beauty of redwoods justice.
9.45 am. There. Have put together perfect capsule wardrobe for the weekend, jeans, skirts, light tops, shorts, jumpers, jelly mules, kitten heels, comfortable shoes for plane travel. Makeup, hair brush, hair dryer (and converter), creams, lotions, etc. Basically contents of sponge bag.
10.10 am. Mark just rang. Told him had already finished with the packing.
"Wonderful," he said. "Half of what you brought here?"
Ha, ha.
"Oh," he continued, "don't forget my shaving kit."
"Oh," I said. "Of course not."
Had not realised he meant his packing too. Fuck. No idea what he might want.
10.21 am. Should have realised would be easier to pack for Mark. His clothing, while v. sexy on him, is oddly lacking in variety, even casual wear. How come have not noticed that before? But have chosen some trousers, shirts, a jumper, shoes.
10.22 am. And shaving kit, obviously.
11.05 am. Just logged in to check for work update. Feedback on work sent last night with just a few changes suggested. Will do, then have lunch. When send back, will also remind them am going for the weekend.
1.03 pm. Mark home much earlier than expected, said hello to me at the computer, went upstairs and then came back down with soft-looking eyes. "You packed for me?"
Was confused, but nodded. "I thought you wanted me to. You know. The shaving kit."
"Oh, darling," he said. "I was joking." Came close to me, then gave me hug. "But thank you."
Hugged him back, though joked, "You're still going to double check, aren't you?"
He chuckled. "Just want to make sure you didn't miss anything, that's all."
1.08 pm. Apparently forgot passports. Not that need one to travel to another part of same state, but is better than driving licence in a pinch.
2.30 pm. "Bridget." Mark. "Curious to know. How are we getting to the airport?"
Oh fuck.
4.37 pm. LAX. Mark immediately rang up for taxi and after a few tense moments we learnt that one could be there within 45 minutes. Seemed like ominous portent to weekend, but we made it to airport with plenty of time to spare.
(Mark had brought home another cigarette brand for me that seems much more palatable. Have packed the Marlboro cigarettes, which will throw at Tom.)
Arrived then went through security and got all checked in, then found something to eat at airport bar. Had glass of wine, which was v. g.
Now we are waiting to board.
5.45 pm. Am now on plane, which is terrifyingly small. Fortunately is short flight. About one hour in the air. Seems like miracle.
7.05 pm. SJC. Oh fuck. Did not realise San Jose, San Francisco and Santa Cruz were not right next to each other. Expected to take taxi between them, but turns out San Francisco is about an hour's drive away. Mark has gone to hire car until Monday, so that we can drive up, see Tom, then drive to cabin and back here to airport.
7.14 pm. Mark, returning from car hire counter with keys in hand. "Tom is expecting us, yes?"
Fair question. Had address and everything. Nodded.
"And we're staying with him tonight?"
Oh God. Am terrible planner.
7.40 pm. Now on road to San Francisco. Is lovely drive.
Mark asked me to phone Tom, though, and let him know we are on the way. And to verify we have bed for the night.
"Of course, darling!" he said. "Was expecting it. Though usually the dog is in there during the day, but we've given it a thorough once-over and it's spotless."
7.44 pm. Have relayed information to Mark, who looked dubious, but at least assured now that we have a place to sleep.
11.24 pm. Exhausted but here at Tom's. And Carl's! Is v. nice place in Castro neighbourhood. Carl is very cute, very sweet, and a bit younger than was expecting, channelling a bit of Rupert Everett from My Best Friend's Wedding.
Dog is tiny, frenetic little thing am afraid will step on by accident. But is charming in its own way, and very affectionate.
"What's its name?"
Tom looked a bit embarrassed, his gaze sliding over to Mark. "It's, er, Mr Darcy," he said at last. "But he's been named that since before Carl and I started going out."
Carl looked a bit confused as we had not been introduced to Carl with surnames, just "Bridget and Mark." Could just see the discomfort in Mark's expression.
When they brought us to the room, found quickly that Mr Darcy (the dog) had left a special present on the floor in there. Tom appropriately apologetic and horrified while Carl went off to get the cleaning supplies. For his part, Mark looked stoic. Thought surely he would insist we get hotel or something after that, but he didn't.
"Let's go down the street for something to eat," Tom said brightly. "Surely you must be hungry."
"We'll put Mr Darcy in the crate," Carl added.
Tom was, at that point, forced to explain why the comment made Mark look uncomfortable. Carl, in turn, slapped his hand over his mouth then gabbled apologies.
"It's quite all right," Mark said. "And yes, that sounds quite nice. I'm famished."
So we went to lovely place called The Metro, which served Chinese food and incredibly good (and strong) cocktails. Smashing time. Could not help noticing that Mark, in his trousers, shirt, and sport jacket, was attracting the attention of quite a few young men (not that Mark is geezer, is only 41, but the oglers are mid-20s at best). If he noticed he said nothing, though he did have two cocktails.
We then went to patisserie for dessert. Chocolate torte for me and crème brûlée for Mark. Was so good to catch up (and to see!) Tom, but am afraid we dominated conversation. Mark didn't seem to mind. He had lazy, happy smile on face.
2.03 am. After return we had more wine and chatted. Mark too. Now have come to bed as more travelling tomorrow.
Mark was chuckling to himself just now. "I felt a bit like a science experiment or zoo exhibit tonight," he said. I asked him why. "You and me, a straight couple, in the Castro. Felt like I was being scrutinised to see whether or not I might actually kiss a girl."
"Oh, Mark," I said to him with a giggle, putting my arms around his waist. "That's not why you were being scrutinised."
Mmm. Bedtime.
Fri, 16 Jan
8st 11 (does not seem possible; perhaps scale is off?), cigarettes 3 (saintly), alcohol units half-bottle (but was champagne).
10.30 am. Oh bugger. Have overslept. Well, not overslept for me, but for Mark? Definitely overslept. Was nice, though, to wake up naturally and not to alarm clock or similar.
11.15 am. Are showered and made up, and we are all going back to patisserie for breakfast. Tom says they have great coffee, and best of all, chocolate croissants. Hurrah!
1.45 pm. All fed and watered, and now en route back south. We were going to take the Pacific Coast Highway right along the ocean, but is (according to patisserie owner) an El Niño year and rainstorms can be v. dangerous, so we are going back the same way we came. Plus, am told scenery through Santa Cruz mountains is beautiful too.
Felt v. emotional saying goodbye to Tom. Told him I hoped he is not planning to live here forever. "Of course not, Bridgeline," he said. "Going home in February."
"Oh, good!" I said brightly.
He continued on, though, as if I hadn't spoken, in conspiratorial tone: "They'll only let you stay for six months as a tourist. But going to see about a visa to stay longer."
"Oh," I said again. Didn't know that about tourist stay. Well, Mark's job's only five months, so of course he didn't freak out about not having visa on hand. Do not really need it, after all.
2.15 pm. Have just left Route 101 for Route 85, now heading south. So exciting! Going to stop for a bit to get a bite of food. Chocolate croissant only lasts so long. (Bought a couple for the road, but Mark wants something savoury and with a bit more protein.)
3.05 pm. Have just turned off of major highway to something smaller and more crowded by trees. Suddenly civilisation was just gone. Twisty turny but v. beautiful. Would probably be prettier in sunshine, but is not like clouds and occasional rain was unexpected.
3.45 pm. Have arrived!
5.12 pm. Took a little longer than the expected hour and half to get here due to snack break, scary mountain road and intermittent curtain of rain, but we are here and it is, despite rain, magnificent. Did check in, v. nice people running place (Polly and Ed, pensioners by the look of it), though they hastened to point out that is not exactly peak tourist season so restaurant there in the lodge has more limited hours than usual. "There's a kitchenette in the cabin, coffee and the like, but you can run down to Santa Cruz for other stuff if you need." Polly gestured in vague Santa-Cruz-ish direction. "About ten minutes that way. There's a Safeway there."
"Thank you very much," said Mark, as always at his most polite. Polly smiled and her cheeks, I swear, went pink. (Mark does charming Englishman quite well.)
We scaled ladder/stairs up (landing mid-way, with enclosure, hot tub) and upon reaching the top were quite literally left breathless (more than just from climbing ladder/stairs). Went to stand out on balcony, roof overhead, arms around each other, just basking in nature. Tree-house-style cabin affords glorious view of tree-covered mountains, which, at present, are swathed in low-hanging clouds, though is not raining here at the moment. And the scent of the redwood trees! Spicy and sweet yet earthy/woody. Nothing quite like it.
Felt Mark take in long breath, then exhale slowly. "Didn't realise how much I needed this break already," he murmured, resting his chin on the top of my head. "I know we've only been here in America a week, but ramping up on this case to come up to speed with everyone else… it's been so draining." Pressed kiss into hair. "It should be easier from now on, but… I don't know what I would have done without you here."
Squeezed my arm around his waist, tightened my fingers on his hip, feeling simultaneously pleased with self, and emotional, as if might burst out in tears. Said only, "Just happy you like it."
He turned me, kissed me, then held me close. "Come on. Let's see how the place fares on the inside."
Big sitting room with crackling fireplace, warm and inviting, with broad expanse of windows to gaze out at the mountains from the comfort of the sofa. Carried bags into bedroom. Lovely, v. large bed. Bathroom (en suite) has shower and usual facilities. Lack of bathtub OK since is hot tub. The kitchen area—kitchenette—has fridge, stovetop, coffee maker, microwave, and basket of sweeteners and powdered lightener. Out of habit, I suppose, opened the fridge and gasped. Was bottle of champagne, and on the counter beside fridge, previously unnoticed, sat a pair of flutes.
"What is it?" Mark asked, concerned, so I told him.
"Don't know why," I added. "I didn't ask for this."
"Maybe they think we're honeymooning around California," he said with a smirk and a wink. "Might as well enjoy it."
Didn't realise he meant right then, but he pulled the bottle from the fridge, popped the cork, then poured us each a flute. Bubbly went right to head, got v. giggly and… well, able to confirm that bed is v. accommodating. (Must cement impression that is honeymoon, after all.)
Oof, best get to restaurant for some dinner. Am famished.
10.30 pm. Bliss. Had fantastic dinner in restaurant—steak and potatoes, green beans; v. g. and typical American fare, am told—then cherry pie for pudding with glop of vanilla ice cream on top. Dare not think of the calorie count, which am studiously avoiding this year.
Back to cabin, sitting on sofa by fire. All the lights are down. Is dark outside, not even a moon tonight. We're so far from the city that the stars are exceedingly bright and clear in the sky (between cloudbanks, that is). Mark has dozed off on the sofa; think will wake him soon so he can go to proper bed and sleep without risking pain in neck or similar.
Nice to watch him sleep, though. Untroubled by stress of day, so peaceful-looking—
Gah!
10.34 pm. Was Mark coming up out of dead sleep to scold self. "Bridget," he said in growl. "Put that bloody diary away."
Right. Bedtime. But before, there's champagne to finish.
Mon, 19 Jan
8st 7 (weight that self feels), cigarettes 5 (to calm nerves after near-death experience), alcohol units 7 (same), faux pas 2.
8.47 am. Weekend has been so nice: weather was mostly cooperative during day, downpours reserved for evenings when patter of rain was soothing. Managed to get in a couple of hot-tub dips, which were very nice. Being in enclosure meant no bikini needed. And no scale in bath. Saturday morning, asked Mark opinion on weight. "What were you yesterday?" he said. Told him. He stood, swooped me up in his arms as if carrying self off to bed, then said, "Less than that, then." Then did swoop self off to bed. Love him.
Something bothering Mark this morning, though. Starting to fear that, unlike during work week when he leaves for (and is occupied by) work, being in cabin with me away from usual civilisation has driven Mark a little mental. He was a bit snappish this morning as we had breakfast, then said abruptly that he was going pop over by himself to Santa Cruz for a few things for the drive back to San Jose airport, where we must be in order to catch flight at 3.30 pm.
9.24 am. Weird. Mark returned and is acting as if nothing had been bothering him this morning. Has brought chocolate croissants and cappuccinos from the coffee shop in town.
9.43 am. Hm.
"Sorry I was such a grouch this morning," he said as we finished the coffees and pastries, a second breakfast of sorts, standing at the railing of the balcony to take in one last view of the countryside. "I…" He ran his hand over his hair. "Think maybe I'm just a little irritated that the weekend's ending."
"It's all right," I said, putting my arm around him.
10.09 am. Oh my God.
Drew away after hug, went to turn to walk back into house, and did not realise had gotten self turned around. Nearly tried walking off the balcony where the ladder is, but Mark grasped my wrist in the nick of time.
Heart racing. Have had to have cigarettes to soothe self. Mark has even brought me shot of brandy (had no idea was brandy in house). Feeling better.
10.21 am. Cuddle and a bit of a snog has left self feeling better still.
10.42 am. Have checked out and now on the way north to San Jose. Lunch, return hired car, then check in for flight. A fond farewell to the beautiful redwoods.
7.02 pm. Home (LA). Stepped in it a bit. Saw sign in San Jose for Japanese Gardens and expressed interest in seeing it before realising what had said, remembering cruel ex-wife. Mark said only that he didn't think we had time. If the reference bothered him he didn't really show it, but still felt terrible.
But check-in/flight/etc. went v. quickly, and before knew it was back in LA. Came back to several messages on answerphone about work (Mark, obviously) and now he is returning calls, having already snapped back into work mode.
Said we could order a pizza for dinner. Strangely have no appetite for it yet.
7.36 pm. Mark found self out on terrace, placed hand tenderly on shoulder. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to get on the phone the moment we stepped in, but they couldn't wait."
"It's all right," I said, and meant it. After all, that was why he was in LA. Am just tag-along. Was grateful that at least they did not call the mobile phone.
"I'm really sorry," he said, then turned me and gave me long hug. "Thank you for the weekend." When he drew away, he said, a sweet smile on his face, "There's pizza on the way. I'll pour you some wine. All right?"
Smiled back. Couldn't help it. Must have been feeling the last-day-of-minibreak blues, too. "All right."
8.58 pm. Feeling much cheered. We had the pizza and the wine, got a bit squiffy, giggled on the sofa until the giggling turned to kissing. Now going to retire early.